


Since We Must Part, Drown Night

by Measured_Words



Category: Return to Night - Mary Renault
Genre: All Stories Need More Lisa, Crueltide, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, This Story Needs More Lisa, Why Didn't I write a Story About Lisa?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 23:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2791940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/pseuds/Measured_Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian and Hilary met for a brief interlude in March of 1941, when he is flying with the 607 Squadron of the Auxiliary Air Force, and she is working as a surgeon in a hospital in Ruislip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Since We Must Part, Drown Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Naraht](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naraht/gifts).



It was the ninth of March, 1941, and the first time Hilary would see Julian since the Battle of Britain began. He had secured a 'weekend' leave pass, and Hilary had desperately scrambled to cover her shifts at the King Edward Memorial Hospital, promising the world to her few co-workers and the displaced medical students left to run the place as more and more able-bodied men found themselves conscripted. No one begrudged her this one selfish act, and Hilary allowed herself to embrace it. She missed him desperately, and even her focus on her patients and teaching duties were not sufficient to completely bury her concern.

Julian was flying in to RAF Northolt from his posting at Middle Wallop, and Hilary had picked up the key to a small cottage nearby the day before. The place was one of many near the base that that let to airmen and their families for both long and short term, but the proprietor had given her a long look, glancing surreptitiously at her wedding ring. Apparently he could not believe that the older, professional woman before him was married to one of the famous Few. It was not Hilary's first encounter with this form of incredulity – the pilots of Fighter Command were inundated with the generous affections of Britain's prettiest young girls, and Hilary no doubt seemed far removed from their number. She had half expected the man to demand to see her marriage licence, and was gratified to make her escape after a brief tour of the facilities.

Hilary had anticipated arriving before Julian, and preparing certain touches she hoped he would appreciate. She'd splurged on her rations for tea and fruit, knowing she could make up the differences from the hospital canteen, and shopped around to find some sausages for dinner that didn't have too much filler. The fire was an electric one, not so different from the one she'd had in her room at Lisa's. The bed looked cozy, with a hand-stitched counterpane and two fluffed feather pillows. Everything took her less time to bring to order than she'd planned; her efficiency left her idle, and idleness invited anxiety. The tick of the mantelpiece clock seemed louder every minute that Julian did not come. She had expected him at 2. At 2:30, she decided to make some tea, on the principle that it would settle her nerves.

The shriek of the kettle just barely preceded the knock on the door, and Hilary turned off the gas to silence it before hurrying to answer. She barely had time to take in the gauntness of his perfect features before Julian crushed her against his chest. She would have chided him for hurting her – she would surely have bruises – if she hadn't felt so relieved.

"Darling," she managed after a moment of rough handling, prising herself out of his grip. "Darling, come inside and let me look at you."

"Hilary. Thank God."

He allowed himself to be led inside; Hilary closed the door on the rest of the world and the ideas of tea and relaxation were quite forgotten for some hours. Hilary found her husband full of vigour and enthusiasm. His eagerness to please her verged on the desperate, but her reassurances on that front were honest. She craved most of all to be filled by him – they had the rest of the weekend to regain finesse. When they were finally fully spent, he curled up with his head on her stomach, a hand on her thigh, while she sat up and smoked.

"I missed you so," Julian repeated, calmer now. "I've been so tired. The doctors give us benzedrine, you know, if they think we'll need it, to stay awake. I find myself questioning them, wondering what you would say, if you would approve. It does help one focus, though."

"I'm sure they're quite competent, darling. They'd have quite a lot to answer, otherwise." Still benzedrine was somewhat concerning – there was a great potential for abuse if it wasn't closely monitored. But the RAF's priorities for her young husband were quite different from her own, as she knew when she had relinquished him. She hoped it would be good for him; it was difficult to cling to this attitude as she still feared that she was not. Despite recent evidence of his continued ardour, it seemed irreconcilable.

"If you say so, dearest. I trust you." The dismissiveness of his tone felt forced, and Hilary felt some crucial moment slip away before he continued. "Shouldn't we be drawing the curtains?"  
Hilary, nodded, slipping into the green silk robe she'd packed as she rose. The thick blackout curtains made the cottage feel darker as well as isolated. Julian had turned to light the lamp by the bedside, and as he sat and stretched she had the chance to observe more clinically the changes to his physique that she had felt before. When she'd first met him, she'd thought he had the look of a fallen Grecian soldier – the image was more distressing now, but the comparison to that first impression was telling. He'd been a boy, her beautiful Spartan. Real conflict had made him seasoned, had roughened his beauty.

"Would you care for some tea?"

"Thank you. You know, they keep us on such a tight schedule, for meals and all. One notices immediately any deviation."

Now Hilary heated the water in the kettle, thinking also of the bath and whether they might both like one, or if there was much point. The sausages and fruit she portioned according to her expectation of their appetites. "You'll have to tell me if something is really off. We're quite the opposite where I'm at – no guarantees whatsoever of a regular meal time. I expect hospital chaos is somewhat different from what you're used to."

Julian nodded, though his brow creased slightly. "I rather think you're right. It's.... well, it's not here, is it? Just us." He reached his hand across the table to her after she'd set down the plates, and she took it as she sat. "We've been flying nights, as you know. I don't.... well. I just mean that I may not sleep well." His smile was warm, but there was a bright flicker in his eye that she couldn’t quite identify.

"I shan't complain, darling." Hilary squeezed his hand. "It is such a relief to see you at all, and I know how lucky I am." 

"The lads promised they can hold the sky without me for a night or so at least. Things have quietened down since December, and that helps – but please, Hilary. I want to hear about you. Tell me really – how have you been?"

She smiled at his sincerity, but she didn't know if she had the heart to match it. The fighters were Britain's first line of defense against the relentless German bombings. Julian's squadron, 604 AAF, did their best to deter the nightly attacks, and every one of their successes was celebrated. But Hilary cleaned up after their failure, and no matter how kindly she laid it out it was sure to wound him.

"I'm fine. Busy. You know – they keep sending students out to us. It's good to have the extra hands, but I never expected to be an instructor." She'd been enjoying it rather more than she expected. There was even the occasional female student, and though at first she'd felt somewhat awkward at being perceived as a role model, she'd come to embrace it. Perhaps she could steer them away from her mistakes. Working with them was enlightening in ways she hadn't envisioned, and gave her a strange hope for the future and a new confidence in the capabilities of her sex. She’d found herself considering more seriously what she might like to do with her career after the war ended, and wondering what opportunities she could lever from her current experience.

"I imagine you'd be a marvellous teacher. You're so patient. I should like to listen to you talk, about anything, for hours."

His ability to make her feel adored, and also very silly for it, was something she'd almost forgotten. "I think you'd tire of it soon enough – your patience, as I recall, is more finite."

"Never." He said it dramatically, and Hilary couldn't tell whether the effect was intentional. They settled into the meal with even more idle conversation, Julian relaying small details of life at the base, and some of the differences between the ones he'd visited. They'd been at Middle Wallop since the previous July, but she gathered they made sorties from some of the other bases in and around southern England as needed – enough at least that Julian could compare things like the mess halls, the attitudes of the ground crews, the dining culture.

"It's a shame we couldn’t be here, or maybe at Kenley. You could come and dine with me, sometimes... I know you are busy, the hospital needs you. But it is nice to imagine."

"It would be wonderful if I could see you more." She'd met some of the other RAF wives – there was a club in the city she'd been invited to join – but she felt like an oddity among them. Most of the other airmen were even younger than Julian, and their wives were generally of that same age. The older women amongst them were married to older men, most of whom had been in the service long before the war. They had their own traditions and opinions, and on her brief encounter Hilary hadn't felt at ease with either group. Seeing Julian would be the only appealing element of a dinner on base, but she wondered if he would be different among his peers, and whether that might be more or less awkward. "But I like this. It's rather reminiscent though, isn't it?" Most of their relationship had been spent in private, with only a few weeks trying to navigate a more public life before Julian had been called up.

"I'm sorry – I feel like I've never quite managed to treat you properly, not as a real husband ought."

"Darling, do you think that could have ever been right for us?" She stood, conscious of the way that her robe clung to her form, and the way his eyes traveled up her body to her face. "There's tea. Would you like to come sit by the fire with me?"

"More than anything. But I'll fetch it for you. You've set up everything here so nicely, let me dote on you a little."

A protest was on the tip of her lips, but she realized how much she wanted to indulge him. If he wanted to make himself her servant, she had no objections if it would fortify his spirits. Instead she nodded and went to turn on the fire – the winter cold had passed, but the March air was damp. That done, Hilary settled into one of the two large chairs, finding it quite comfortable. When Julian came bearing the tea on a little tray, he sat on the rug at her feet, passing up her cup and sighing contentedly.

"Now I feel better," he admitted. "Perhaps you were right – I'm not meant to be a proper husband. This is the place for me." He took a single sip of his tea before setting it aside, settling his head in her lap. 

Hilary ran her fingers through his thick hair, watching the tension drain from him as he fell quiet, his eyes closed. She kept it up until her own cup was cool and drained, wondering if he hadn't fallen asleep after all. Her hand was still on his head, her thumb caressing across the barely perceptible ridge where Sanderson had once cut open his skull, when he looked up suddenly with his head tilted. She had just been marvelling to herself that he had been deemed fit to fly considering the injury, but they had tested him quite extensively and he'd never complained of so much as a headache.

"What is it, dear?"

"Oh, nothing. Just the Hurricanes at the base."

Now it was Hilary's turn to cock her head, and listen. She heard nothing straight away, but a minute or so later she heard the whine of aircraft overhead. "So another night of bombings then. I suppose it was too much to hope they'd let us off the hook just for tonight."

"It’s hard to say. It could be anything, this early…" But the tension was back in him.

"Julian, darling." She pushed his hair back, tilting his head to meet her gaze. "It's not your fight tonight."

"But you understand, don't you. I can see it in your face. You could be doing something more than this."

"And any other night, I would. We're just two people, in the end, and you mean enough to me that I can put that aside."

"I know. Hilary, I love you so much. I'd rather be with you any night. You're all I can think of, when I'm up there you know. It should be all of England, but in truth – it's just you."

"I expect you have a few other things on your mind..."

"Yes, but dash it – I don't want to think about any of that now." He kissed her knee again, fingers sliding the green silk away from her thigh, travelling upwards with his mouth... Hilary's earlier qualms about finesse were assuaged – he could take direction quite well when she managed to give it.

They forgot their concerns together for some time, and ended up snuggled together in bed, drowsy and spent. Hilary, being older, found their exertions more tiring and was on the verge of dozing off despite being more accustomed to a nocturnal schedule herself, when Julian started again. He sat up, laying a hand on her arm to keep her where she was. The lamp on the bedside table cast a harsh glare on his grim expression.

"But they're not close, are they?"

He was about to reply when she heard a siren cry out in the distance, and others screech to life closer by.

"There's an Anderson shelter in the garden," she said instead, sitting up as well. The cottage proprietor had shown it to her during the tour, but of course she'd hoped not to make use of it. He'd promised that it was not damp even in the rain, as the slope of the garden drew water away, and had shown her where the torches were stored. They both dressed rapidly and carelessly, and Julian grabbed their coats and a spare rug while she examined the torches. She hadn't tested them previously, and found now that only one of the lot had any power. There were no fresh batteries to be found, and the sirens in Ruislip were sounding as well. Julian took her arm, escorting her outside. He kept looking up, as though he might catch a glimpse of the Luftwaffe flying across the face of the moon.

The shelter was immediately recognizable, and Julian made a beeline for the buried steel enclosure. It was located along the cellar wall, mounded with grass-covered earth. Narrow stairs had been cut into the ground and led down to the door. Julian helped Hilary down first, and passed her the rug. She'd heard of some shelters that were kitted out for comfort, but this was not one – likely because the cottage owner never planned to use it himself, and no long-term renter had left anything behind. There was no electricity, no light, and no radio. In the moonlight, she could make out a single bench set along the wall, making the space seem even narrower and more closely confined. Julian had to stoop to fit inside.

It was dry, as promised, and the quilt helped the enclosure feel less sparse. Once Julian pulled shut the door, however, it was very dark. Hilary switched on the torch, though there was little to see and the shadows were not comforting. The earth mounded over the corrugated steel muffled the sirens, making them sounds distant and tinny. All she could think was that the battery would not last more than an hour at most, and then they would be trapped in the darkness, and that Julian probably thought it was marvelous. He wrapped an arm around her, and she leaned against his shoulder.

"Have you ever been in one of these?" Hilary's voice sounded clipped to her own ears, and Julian hugged her tighter against him.

"No." She'd expected him to elaborate immediately, but the pause dragged on before he added anything else. "At the bases, it's blast pens mostly, and some Stantons, but we're rarely around to use them. How about you? Is there one for your flat?"

"There is, but I'm not around to use it much either. I spend a lot of time at the hospital, you know. It's just easier. My theatre's in the basement in any case."

She was vaguely aware of him nodding in the dark.

"Is it bad?"

"I'm sorry?" Whatever he was asking, he was asking very earnestly.

"The patients. You hear the numbers, of course. I like to imagine they're in your hands – or Dr. Sanderson's I suppose."

"Darling, do you really want to know?" Most were not so bad – small pieces of shrapnel and the like that needed to be removed. Mostly didn't require a surgeon's care. The more severe cases that she'd dealt with could be quite heartbreaking. The burns were the very worst, but after initial treatment, those patients could be better cared for elsewhere than at the King Edward. The torch flickered, and her heart raced. The air in the tight space, warmed by their presence, felt heavy. "It isn't something I care to dwell on at the moment."

He pulled her closer, resting his head on hers. "I suppose not. I just wondered to what extent it matched my imagination."

Hilary shrugged, trying to reclaim some of her own space – she didn't need Julian to help her feel as though the walls were closing in around her. "Why would you imagine such a thing?"

He sighed, and while he didn't try to crush her again, he did nuzzle his cheek against her hair. "I don't know, Hilary. I feel like.... I should be able to tell you anything. I know I can. But you'll tell me I'm being silly, I know it. It doesn't seem silly to me."

"I don't know about silly, Julian. You've been under an enormous strain. I shouldn’t be surprised if it is having some effect."

"That's the thing. I feel like... like a fraud. In the beginning, you know, no one thought much of us. I was all right with that, I suppose. But now – there are a lot of expectations, you know, about what a fly boy should be."

She squeezed his hand, realizing that none of this was at all a surprise. "I know you've never cared for the spotlight."

"It's more than that. It's... You know, they talk us up, and Cunningham, he deserves all the praise he gets – but even with the new planes, the radar... We’ve only taken down seventeen of the Luftwaffe since December. In a raid like this – even if it is just a small one – they'll send a hundred bombers, plus fighters. It's nothing. It feels like nothing. We see the papers, you know, the casualties, the pictures..."

"You're asking quite a lot of yourself, darling. Can you imagine if you weren't there?"  
She realized immediately that's she'd misspoken. Julian signed heavily. He withdrew his arm, sliding down to the floor and leaning against her knees instead.

"I didn't mean anything by it, Julian. Please don't." 

The flickering of the torch made shadows dance across his face, distorting his features; he closed his eyes against the light.

"I know. But I can imagine it. I feel like somehow.... Somehow I've stolen someone else's life, and it isn't one I care at all for."

Hilary could begin to see the shape of the thing now, and tried to set aside her uncharitable thoughts about Elaine Fleming. Instead she grasped for something more positive. "What about your squad? I thought you liked them well enough." His letters had been filled with tales of camaraderie and misadventures – the picture they'd formed was of very close friendships, at least with some of their number, and a deep trust and reliance on all.

But Julian shook his head against her leg. "I do! But all I do around them is an act. I feel hollow, all of the time, or terrified. You're the only thing that feels real to me – and I don't know how I can bear to leave you again."

He had managed to keep his voice fairly even, but he was shaking. Hilary took a deep breath, trying to sort out her own emotions. Her anger was not, for the most part, directed at him, but he received a measure of resentment (for which she felt an equal portion of guilt) in addition to her honest concern. She wished they could have come to this while they were still comfortably in bed, but Julian was a creature of the deep earth, she supposed, more than he was of the air. The thought crossed her mind that it was no wonder he felt a fraud, as a pilot, though he might have reasons grounded in the other matter.

"Julian, darling. You're not a fraud. We've all had the courses of our lives spun around. I hadn't thought to return to practice in London, either, before the war. Whatever your father was – whoever – it has no bearing on you. We talked about this, before they called you up. You were determined then, weren't you, to forge your own life?"

"I was." His answer was muffled. "But it was no more than a thought, and I can't hold on to it. I know – I'm no good. That one I feel. I'm no good at this, I'm no good for you..."

Hilary set the torch on the bench beside her, taking his head in her hands and forcing him to look at her. She wanted to be harsh with him, but she was afraid. The tone of the sirens had changed as well, from warning of a possible attack to an incoming barrage. She didn't feel at all secure – his line had been too familiar. "Julian. Dear. You don't think I should have some say?"

She'd been wrong to trust him after all. If she'd reported more faithfully the mess at Mott's Cave, perhaps she could have kept him out of the service. If she'd been more confident that she could have kept him from a psychiatric ward altogether, she might have been bolder – but it was hardly the first time her weakness where he was concerned had interfered with her judgement. She'd reassured him, instead, that she would stay with him despite his newly revealed parentage and more significantly, she thought, despite his mother. They had married, and he'd seemed so much improved that she'd believed him without question that he saw active service as a chance to prove that his future was not dictated by anything as simple as heredity – that he could be his own man. But perhaps that conviction had been an act, or else he'd failed to convince himself in the end.

"I'm sorry, I know – this isn't what you wanted. It just goes to show..." His words came haltingly, but he didn't fight her grip. The whites of his eyes was all she could see of them, and they fixed on hers in the gloom.

"No Julian. It shows nothing except that you're scaring me. I love you. Come back up and sit with me."

She tried to sound authoritative, but the steel walls muted everything. The ground shook, distracting her with yet another fear. The power she'd held over him in the cave to bring him back to himself was muted too, and until the sirens quieted, there was no other safety to which they could withdraw.

"I'm sorry Hilary. I don't mean to scare you – I forget how much you don’t like the dark." He did what he was told, wrapping an arm around her again. His coat was cool, but she rested her head against him anyway.

"It's not the dark, darling. I worry about you. It's bad though to think of you flying up there alone, facing the Hun..."

"We don't fly alone, not in the Beaus. There's that at least."

That felt like progress, at least. Had he mentioned that in one of his letters? "Who do you fly with? Is that James?"

"Yes. James Braithwaite. He's a good navigator, keeps his head. We get on, and fly, well together..."

Julian still sounded strained, and Hilary sensed there was perhaps something in their relationship that was at the heart of his distress. "You can tell me, darling."

After a moment, he did, slowly. "His father was in the Royal Flying Corps... He told me about it, what his mother knew. He's just a little older than me, but the story is a familiar one. Only it's not such a pack of lies, I suppose. And – I don't know why they wouldn't take him as a pilot. He started out as ground crew, and this was how he could get up in the air. As for me, well, people know the name. There was one of our instructors, out at Croydon, who said that he'd fought with – with my father, before he'd transferred to the RFC. He took me out for drinks, you know, to tell me all these stories... I suppose I should have told you, but I just wanted to forget. But I can't – it follows. There's this whole culture, you know, this second generation, that I'm supposed to be a part of. And I can't escape it, even in the air, this weight of expectation that I'm something I'm not."

"You're not a fraud, Julian. I know why you feel that way. But if you had lived your whole life to the expectation of who your father was – you don't think it was the same for James? You do share that, darling. It's still part of your life, despite ...what came later." She knew that if she addressed the issue of his mother directly, she would only wind up repeating words she'd already regretted once.

"But it's not the same. I can't explain. Talking to James, or any of the others – there's something wrong, Hilary, when I hear them talk about growing up, the things _they_ were told. I know what you'll say – that it isn't something wrong with me. But I can't make myself believe that. They had us pose, you know, they wanted to do a poster. I'm sure you've seen the type of thing. It just made me feel ill. My expressions were so bad they couldn’t use any of the shots. It didn't do much for my popularity for the next few days, you can imagine, but that was the only time I've felt right about any of it."

Hilary tried to see past her anger at the absurdity of the situation and find a little more empathy. If nothing else, the added stress couldn't be doing him any good. But she wasn't sure what to say. Even if he was well enough liked for his own merits, to Julian, the foundation on which that was built would always feel unstable. How ironic that what his mother had most undermined, in the end, was his ability to be who she'd told him he should. "That sounds very difficult. I'm sorry."

"It's silly. I know it is, but I can't help how I feel – and all it leaves is you. I don't mind that at all, except that we can't be together, save like this."

The muffled sound of a distant explosion punctuated his statement, and Hilary tensed. The light of the torch was already beginning to flicker. She lay her other hand on top of his, realizing that her grip was the tighter one – that he had in fact relaxed some. "I am here now, darling. I hope it's helped some?"

He sighed, burying his face in her hair again. "Some, yes. You’re so good for me, I wish I could be the same. Just to talk, about any of this. I do feel better. And to have any time with you at all like this – I don't want to waste it."

Hilary started to nod, to reply, but he kissed her neck. In the darkness, it made her shiver. Julian seemed to take her reaction for something quite different, reaching up to turn her head to meet his. She felt stiff, but he didn't seem conscious of her hesitation until she straightened fully.

"Hilary?"

He was so earnest, so fragile. "I was just thinking – that we should put out the torch. We might need it later." Julian nodded, and she reached for it, flicking its switch. The darkness felt whole, and she shivered again. His hands found her shoulders, and from there the buttons of her blouse. She'd dressed so quickly in response to the sirens that she wore nothing beneath it, nor beneath her skirt. Julian, she knew, was in a similar state.

"Are you still frightened?"

"Not of you, darling..."

Hilary let Julian distract her. She couldn't have explained what it was that made her feel sublimated, transformed, or why she let it happen. It was like letting him bring her tea – an indulgence she was happy to give, though she felt strangely powerless. He called her his goddess, and she let him worship how he wished. His flesh was solid against hers, and though she couldn't see him she took comfort in that. Between the quilt and their coats and the rapidly warming air, he managed to provide some comfort, drawing the bench they'd settled on away from the wall, though the torch had been lost somewhere in the process. It was familiarity, she thought, that let her know what he desired even before he declared it, and rendered her poised to bestow it. She wondered, at a certain remove, if she had welcomed him too far, or let him draw her too far into his own world, and whether she could tell the difference. 

The air in the shelter was by now quite warm and cloying, and a small part of Hilary wondered, as they cuddled close together, whether there was a sufficient fresh supply to keep them until the all clear sounded. The screeching of the sirens had faded to background noise now, and she hadn't felt a tremor in quite some time. Still, she preferred to face Julian, though she couldn't see him, than the cold steel walls of the shelter. It helped keep her mind from the fact that the heavy earth pressing against the roof was, in fact, the true protection of their shelter. Julian was quiet, though still awake, she thought, and his silence did little to offset her impression that the place was too much like a tomb. She wondered if he could still see at all, remembering his keen sight from their first visit to Mott's cave. His sharp senses must serve him well on his flying missions. She was thinking more seriously about how it was a shame he couldn't see himself as she did, when he reached up to caress her face.

"I do wish I never had to leave you. You really are all that matters to me now."

"It won't be like this forever, Julian." She caught his hand, and kissed it. "After the war..."

"After? It feels like it is only getting started still. There's no guarantee of an 'after.'"

Hilary didn't answer - it was something she had difficulty imagining herself, in truth. She kissed Julian's hand again, and after a while he continued. His voice had taken on a distant, dreamy quality.

"I didn't tell you. It was back in December, now. One of those seventeen I told you about. My first – one of the Dornier 215's. I'm not sure if it was James or me or both of us that tagged it. I saw the flames, and everything seemed to happen very slowly. This was out over Kent. I saw the Jerries jump, I thought, as I was turning. The Beaus are tough, but they're not fast, not like you'd think of a fighter. There was a second explosion – it all happened very quickly, though it didn't seem it at the time. I think we must have hit the fuel tank, and then the payload caught, and that's what caused it. We were still too close, flying through debris, trying to get clear to take a run at another from that group. The right engine froze up, and we started to drop at an angle. 

"It's rather a lot of force, I can't describe it at all. You can't quite move, and everything starts to go black. That's the only time my head has ever bothered me – my skull felt as if it wanted to split at the seams, but I'm told that it's the same for everyone. But I felt the world start to drop away and... that was all right. It was all right, Hilary. I didn't mind if that was the end, until I thought of you. I thought you were there, you were holding my hand, in the blackness. I thought I heard your voice – really, though, it was James on the radio, trying to bring me around. I suppose he wasn't as keen to meet his end. I got control of the plane as best I could, the engine came back online, and home we went. And I just kept thinking – it could have been over. I wished it were. I wrote to you then. I remember talking about the Christmas play. I couldn’t tell you what had happened. I didn't mean to at all. I'm just afraid – you make me feel all right. You make me feel real, Hilary. But leaving you again – it will be so much worse..."

Here she was, lying with him in the dark, holding his hand. She could feel every beat of her heart, and every beat of his, strong but slow. What would she do without him? But she'd talked herself through it a hundred times in the opening months of the conflict. She relied on him for very little, from a practical standpoint. Though she did love him dearly, she didn't as yet have an answer to the question of how they might reconcile their lives should they both make it through the war. The things she'd wanted when they'd met, and even when they'd married, had changed. And Julian, she now knew, was as lost as ever. What would she do with him? She didn't have an answer for herself any more that she did for him, and her guilt settled in her throat so that she couldn't even utter a simple platitude. She stroked his hair instead, noticing that the tone of the sirens had changed again to warn of immediate threat.

_" Since she must go, and I must mourn, come night,_  
Environ me with darkness, whilst I write;  
Shadow that hell unto me, which alone  
I am to suffer when my love is gone." 

"You don't fear the dark, darling."

"No, that's true. I prefer it. But everything is hard to bear without you."  
A slight tremor rattled the shelter, accompanied by a distant echo of another explosion.

"They've started again," she said.

"Maybe we'll suffer a direct hit. Or they'll have to dig us out, and this can be our whole world for a little longer."

"Now that _is_ silly talk, Julian." Hilary sat up, trying to orient herself in the dark. One hand brushed across the side of the shelter, finding it slick with condensation. It did nothing for her comfort.

Julian pulled her back to him, wrapping her in his warm strong arms. "I don't really wish it, I know you couldn't stand to be trapped like that."

The next tremor sounded closer, as if the night was amenable to granting his wish in order to spite her. The walls shook harder, and a cascade of earth thumped against the door. Both froze, Hilary shrinking against him, turning over the worst in her mind. He rubbed her shoulders soothingly.

"It's all right, we're safe."

A few other detonations nearby seemed less severe, but something in the doorway rattled – it hadn't done so before. She wished desperately that they had a light – even the dim flicker of the dying torch reflecting of the bare corrugated metal would banish the worst of her fears. If she knew the door could still open, perhaps that would reassure her...

"Are we trapped?"

"I don't know, dear." Of course, neither of them could tell from where they were now, perhaps it was just nerves that made the statement irk her. "Would you like me to check?"

"Yes please."

He didn't move to do so right away. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." It was better to know than to wallow in uncertainty, allowing her imagination to run wild. Yet after she said it, she realized how thoroughly she had rejected his fantasy.

He took her by the shoulders again, and his lips found her forehead. And then he stepped away.  
It couldn't be very far to the door, just a little further along the bench. Julian moved quietly, bare feet on the cool earth floor. The last bombs shuddered in the far distance as the sirens began to stand down in Ruislip. Hilary heard him pull back the curtain over the door, but there was no light around the edges of the frame. Still – that meant nothing. She heard the rattle of the latch, of the door itself. Nothing penetrated the darkness. Julian pounded on the door, but she couldn’t decipher any meaning in the metallic clanging.

"The door's stuck," he said finally. "We're not buried, but I think it might be jammed pretty fast."

Hilary nodded, shivering, though of course he couldn't see her. She wasn't cold, but she groped around on the floor for her coat. Finding his instead, she slipped it on. "Can you unstick it?"

"Maybe, if I can find something for leverage." His voice came to her directly, as though he'd turned back to face her. "I'm sorry." As if it was his fault.

"It's all right." They could form a plan, she was sure. The bench might be of use, or some part of it, and of course the torch could not have gotten far. "We'll work it out."

Hilary heard nothing for a moment, and then she felt the bench jar suddenly, knocking her off balance. In the ensuing chaos came a strangled cry and a louder crash, a jolt knocking her into the side of the shelter, a form falling past her in the dark. As she stumbled to pick herself up in the aftermath, there was only silence.

"Julian!"

There was nothing to be heard over her racing heart. The bench had been knocked askew, and she felt her way carefully along it. He must have tripped on something, she realized – clothes, or maybe the torch. He might have put out his hands for balance, only to have them slip along the dew covered sides of their shelter, finding no purchase.

Julian lay prone along the other side of the bench, so that it was surprising that he hadn't fallen on her. Hilary ran her hands along his body, probing for damage. One of his hands tried to close around hers as she checked it, and she heard him mumble something unintelligible as she pulled away. He still didn't answer when she called his name again. She was careful not to move him, as she feared he had hit his head. A concussion might be manageable, and though he was resilient, she knew how rapidly the situation could turn.

Her heart nearly skipped as she felt him move suddenly.

"Stay still, darling." She used her most authoritative voice, but she was shaken, and it showed.

"Oh good. You're here." Julian didn't pay any attention to her injunction, struggling to sit up and leaning against the wall, haphazardly pushing the bench further out of the way.

"You've hit your head, Julian. You need to stop moving and let me... check you over." She had been going to say 'see', but all she could manage was a rudimentary physical examination. There was wetness on his face, which she traced upwards until he winced away from her touch. Steadying his head, she checked his temple, touch alone telling her that the damage was quite serious.

"Will you hold my hand?"

"I'll need to, to check your pulse. Here." She gave the hand that groped towards her a squeeze, then slid her fingers down to his wrist. She had no clock to judge by, and knew her own pulse was still racing too quickly to provide a reasonable comparison. His heart rate was slowing already. She didn't fight when his fingers sought hers again after a moment.

"You're shaking." His voice was slowing too, his words slightly slurred, his grip less firm. "Don't be afraid – I understand."

If she had a light, if she were in her theatre, if she weren't trapped – Hilary would know exactly how to save him. She would do it, without question, whether or not he might thank her, whatever it would mean for them. But here, in the dark, a different kind of mercy overtook her, and she gathered him in her arms, thinking of his pain, and of her own life. "Julian. I'm here, my beautiful, my precious, my love..."

"I knew it would be here, in the end... I knew it would be you. Such sweet... peace..."

"Yes my darling. I love you so much...." Her instinct to protect, to heal, surged again, but there was nothing to be done. His breath hitched; he sighed one final time. Hilary was sure she felt it in more than just the stilling of his form, the loosening of his grip. Something shattered in her own heart, releasing her into a devastating freedom. At first she felt simply paralyzed, but her emotions demanded release, and she poured them out over his still form. She barely recognized the sounding of the all-clear, and it was not until sometime after that she could pull herself together sufficiently to act. There was no one else to rely on: she would have to carve her own way out of the darkness, to reclaim the world of light and life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my betas, Lilliburlero and Nary!
> 
> Title, and the quoted poetry, is Donne, _Elegy XIII, His Parting From Her._
> 
> I wound up doing really stupid amounts of research for this thing, and will be happy to answer questions should you have any. Of course a lot of it went into throw away lines.... I'll add real tags later, but I thought you might enjoy the mystery! But probably I *should* have just written a story about Lisa.


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